


Slay It With Flowers

by IdrisEleven



Series: Da Vinci's Ficlets [4]
Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Comment Fic, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisEleven/pseuds/IdrisEleven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riario works at a flower shop, and one day, Zoroaster comes storming in, slaps 20 bucks on the counter, and says “How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slay It With Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr prompt posted by demisexualmerrill, with actual flowers and their meanings provided by koscheiis. The initial characters were suggested by the-party-pineapple, and the title comes from her very funny punchline to my first tiny ficlet response.
> 
> I have reworked this a bit to make it more story-like and less like a series of posts and reblogs. Please let me know if I should give any further credit or make the contributions of other great minds more clear!

Riario didn't mind this job, although it was a far cry from what his father had hoped for him. What Alessandro didn't know was that Riario was just not cut out for the ruthless tradecraft required of an industrial spy. No, he preferred working here at "Say It With Flowers," although he was brutally efficient at some tasks. Like the one he was doing now, stripping the thorns and leaves from long-stemmed roses. He cupped the head of the flower delicately in his left hand, almost caressing the tender petals, while his right hand--gloved and impervious to pain--swiftly ran the length of the stem, denuding it of its defenses.

He was alone in the shop the day the swarthy stranger stormed in, stomped to the counter and slammed down a twenty dollar bill with more force than currency was designed to withstand.

"How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

Riario turned his large eyes to the customer, and blinked slowly, as he replayed the request in his head. The sentence didn't make sense to him at first, and he came at it several times before understanding dawned. "Ah. You wish to purchase a. . .collection of flowers that will convey a message."

The customer nodded grimly. The situation must be dire, Riario surmised. The man was seriously disheveled, hair a tangle of wild curls, his shirt all but entirely open, nearly falling off his shoulders. An embellished leather jacket hung open, not giving any possible protection against the elements. "Yes, and that message is 'fuck you,' okay? Can you do it?"

In his not-entirely-legal career with his father, Riario had learned many things. He knew how to infiltrate secured corporate offices, he could locate and abscond with the kind of secrets businesses did not admit to having. He thought for a moment about what skills he could use in this unique situation. He was good at stealth, and he believed he could arrange a silent blade concealed in a delivery box, could send long stemmed roses with poison-tipped thorns. With some lead time, he could almost certainly obtain a plant or two that would emit deadly scents to cause the recipient to fall into fatal sleep. Yes, he was sure he could master of an assassin's bouquet.

Riario did not know how to send a message passive-aggressively.

“I can send some really scraggly flowers in a cheap vase, will that do?”

By the annoyed expression on the customer's face, Riario could tell the solution was inadequate. It was too bad that Vanessa wasn't on shift instead of him. This was the kind of thing she adored. Fortunately, she was probably only a phone call away.

“I’m not the resident expert in flower language, sir. Let me call my co-worker, I suspect she will know just the thing.”

The man fumed silently while Riario dialed. Fortunately, Vanessa picked up quickly. “Let me speak to the customer, Girolamo.” (Vanessa always calls him by his given name, she’s nice like that.) Riario wordlessly passed the small cell phone over, and the man put it to his ear.

“Sir, I think I may be able to help you, but I need to know what the offense is.” Riario could hear the excitement in Vanessa's voice, humming beneath the professional good humor.

Oddly, the man seemed flummoxed. He started and stopped a few times. The problem seemed to be how to describe his relationship with the intended recipient. Riario was sure the man was going to say “my friend,” but then stopped himself. Perhaps "friend" didn’t convey the intimacy of their relationship? Or maybe "friend" was not what you called someone who made you angry enough to seek out a "fuck you" bouquet.  The aborted phrase “my lover” focused too much on the presumptive sexual relationship–was a "fuck you" floral arrangement evidence of a final break-up?

The man settled on a phrase, one that Riario could tell might not be strictly accurate, but was emotionally true.

“My brother,” he said, with heartfelt emphasis on the last word. “He has just barely managed to avoid blowing himself up with a poorly conducted experiment, while I was in the room, and he’s so worried about the loss of the data he was trying to get that he hasn’t even noticed that he’s injured. I had to call an ambulance on him, and he still wouldn’t go to hospital until they literally sedated him.”

Silence from the other end of the call, and then Vanessa whispered. “Zo? Which hospital is Leo in? I will deliver these personally. Along with a serious tongue lashing.”

The nurses were delighted when they saw the enormous arrangement, vivid red geraniums mixed with eye-searing yellow carnations and orange lilies. Fluffy white branches of meadowsweet swept in elegant arches over the edge of the vase, while the magenta spikes of foxglove stuck out at odd angles. It was unlike any flowers any of the nurses had seen before, an exuberant and flamboyant arrangement that dwarfed the young woman carrying it.

“But I’m not sure that will even fit in the room, dear,” the one at the desk said, when Vanessa stopped to ask directions.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Vanessa said grimly. “I intend to throw each one of these directly at his head, and then dump the water on him for emphasis.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> According to the post by koscheiis, Vanessa's bouquet has meaning. "So you’d need a bouquet of geraniums (stupidity), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (you have disappointed me), and orange lilies (hatred). it would be quite striking! and full of loathing."


End file.
